Abuelo
by Capelthwaite
Summary: Kate Beckett hates hospitals. She hates the white linoleum tiles and how she can't help but wonder how often they are stained red. She hates how the walls all look the same, that no one could paint on even an ounce of joy. But what she hates most now is that her grandfather is there and she has no idea why. Post-Undead Again.
1. Benjamin Reid

This story is inspired by Denice Frohman's phenomenal poem _Abuela's Dance_ and I wanted to include Kate's grandfather who was mentioned in the episode Poof! You're Dead from season 3. This continues from the end of the episode Undead Again from season 4.

Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Only grandpa is mine.

* * *

_As your eyes open, I wait  
your face, trying to make sense of mine,  
trying to translate me into something you've spoken before  
And I know  
it only takes about 22 seconds, but I swear,  
it's long enough for me to have fallen in love again._

_- _Denice Frohman, Abuela's Dance

* * *

_"Tomorrow?"_

_His face grows serious and his eyes are full when he responds, "Tomorrow."_

Kate ducks her head to hide the smile threatening to blossom over her face, suppressing the urge to pump her fist in victory or to slump over in relief. Because only yesterday she was convinced he was ready to walk away from her, from the inevitability of them. But when he mentions therapy she seizes her chance, rips off the Band-Aid, and makes herself part with one of her more painfully guarded secrets. That she is still working on herself so she can be good enough for him. She needs him to know that he is not alone, that she is in this and she is almost there and that he won't have to wait that much longer.

She is so close.

When she looks up again, she sees a pleased look on his face, his deep blue eyes peeking through the dark makeup he has slathered from ear to ear. Gosh, even now he is beautiful. It hits her hard how bad she has it for this man. It leaves her weightless and star-struck and so very needy. She takes a deep breath, swallows the swell of emotion, and decides to take another chance. One more to make up for the hundreds that she has let slip right through her fingers.

"Hey Castle?" He snaps out of his pensive reverie and turns to her in question. "How about I give you a lift home." She forces herself to hold his gaze but she fiddles with her sleeve in anxiousness. It is carefully phrased less like a question and more like a statement so maybe, just maybe he would be more inclined to say yes. It is the first time she has asked in a few weeks because she knew he always had somewhere to get to, plans to keep and people to meet. Never with her.

He looks at her for a second as if weighing her intentions. The carefully blank expression on his face as apparent as the mask peeling off his cheeks. She holds her breath as she waits and knows that on some level the state of her heart hinges on his answer.

He must have found what he was looking for because a tentative smile returns when he finally answers, "Sure, Beckett. Thanks."

Her shoulders visibly relax and the air down her throat is like the first drop of water after an aimless desert trek. She tries not to think of how only a few weeks ago, it would have been "sure, Kate" instead but she can live with Beckett. So long as it is a yes. She only nods in reply, afraid that if she opens her mouth all of her carefully locked secrets would tumble out by the key in his smile.

They walk to the elevator wordlessly and she can't help but look over her shoulder to make sure he is following. Lately, his presence was precarious at best. But this time he is there with a shy but reassuring smile, his "_I think I understand"_ still ringing in her ears, and it fills her to the brim with hope.

He's still here. With her.

The trip back to his loft is filled with the same heavy silence. There is so much she wants to say and all the words that fight to get out are trapped somewhere between her throat and her mouth, none of them managing to slip through the seal of her lips. She tries to keep her eyes on the road but every few minutes when the stretch of silence becomes a tangible weight, she risks a glance over to the unusually quiet passenger seat. The old Castle would have been ranting about the plausibility of living on alternative terraformed planets or wasting his breath trying to convince her to join his post-zombie apocalypse survival team, all the while she swats his straying hand from messing with her radio controls. But lately, they either sit in uncomfortable silence or he is suspiciously absent. She could never decide which one was worse.

The pair are a few blocks away from the loft when she chances another look over to him (yes, a thirteenth time is a little excessive but only if you count the ones in the elevator and the parking garage too). He has flipped down the sun visor to check his face in the inlaid mirror. The miniature light does little to illuminate his face and the corners of her lips lift at how silly he looks, like a child in the dark with a flashlight pointing up from his chin to cast sinister shadows across his face. He twists his expression into a villainous grin and growls.

She chokes out a laugh at his antics and oh it feels so good. It has been so long since she has laughed and was almost afraid that her muscles had atrophied from lack of use. "What are you doing?" she asks incredulously.

He turns and looks at her as if the answer should be obvious. She laughs again because even on a good day, they aren't _that _in sync. She turns back to the road and notices that the light has turned green but she hums her encouragement, still waiting on an answer.

"Alexis and I are approaching a kairotic moment of the most epic laser tag battle in history. I think this getup will be just the thing I need to knock her off her game." He finishes with a flourish that makes her think of Martha.

She shakes her head at him but his unique bond with Alexis was one of the first things that endeared him to her. She can only hope that their kid would be just as―

No. Stop it, Kate. Getting _way _ahead of yourself.

The shrill of her phone interrupts her thoughts just before she does something reckless, like confess how she really does want little Castle babies. Saved by the bell.

Her eyes stay on the road when she asks, "Uh… Castle, can you get that?"

She can feel the shock on his face in her periphery and it is well warranted. No one answers her phone. No one_._ Not even when she is off duty like she is now. But this is a statement of how much she has come to trust him. Subtle and symbolic as their usual subtext. Come on, Castle. Keep up.

He recovers quickly when she flashes him a pointed look and he fishes around the cup holders where she usually dumps her phone and pulls out the silicon-covered iPhone. He holds it up into her field of vision and she can see her father's face flash across the screen. She hesitates for a moment but remembers that this is her attempt at a step forward and asks, "Put it on speaker?"

He taps the screen and the sound of loud clattering echoes through the car. "Dad? Hey Dad, can you hear me?"

Her father's baritone voice comes through choppy and distant. "Katie? Are you there?" There is a pause filled with what sounds like wind and water before she hears the slam of a door and it cuts the background noise until she can only hear his laboured breathing. "Katie?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

She hears him take a deep breath. "Are you alone?"

"No, Castle's with me," she answers, slightly confused with his question. "You're on speaker."

There is a pause on the other end before Jim Beckett calmly suggests, "Maybe you should take me off speaker."

Her eyebrows crease because on any other day, her dad would have been polite and made small talk with Castle, or just told her that he would call her back and leave her with a quick "Take care".

"Um... I'm driving right now, Dad. What's going on? I can call you back in a few minutes if you want."

Another pause. She looks over at her partner and he is turned towards the passenger window trying to give her any semblance of privacy. She is grateful that he's trying.

Especially when her father starts to speak again.

"Your grandfather has been in an accident."

Oh.

Normally, when people receive bad news it takes a moment or longer for it so sink in before they spiral into a panic. For Kate, it only takes a second for the air to vacuum out of her lungs leaving her gasping. Her grip on the wheel tightens and the vinyl squeals under her fingers but she is stunned into silence. Castle snaps out of his act to look at the phone as though it suddenly melted in his hands. He quickly recovers to look over her face but she keeps it carefully blank. She can feel him oscillate between watching her and looking away while she scans the street to look for a space to pull over. Her father was right; this is a private conversation. "He was on his way to surprise you when the taxi he was in got hit by a couple of teenagers. I was called just under an hour or so ago and I tried to reach you but you didn't pick up."

With a sharp turn of the wheel, she parks the cruiser up against the curb. She wants the snatch her phone back from Castle and barrage her father with questions, needing his soft reassurances that her grandfather is actually fine but her knuckles are stark white with her iron grip on the wheel. She can't move. She thinks: just under an hour ago. That was when her and her team were in that garage cementing their confession and closing their case. No reception.

Her father's voice continues from wherever he is. "I'm not in the New York right now and it'll be a few hours before I can catch a bus back into the city. Ben is at New York -Presbyterian. I'm packing my stuff right now, Katie." She hears the shuffle of clothes and maybe a zipper. "The nurse who called me said he was awake when he arrived. Don't freak out until you see him for yourself, okay?" She feels herself nodding at his words but barely hearing them at all. She counts backwards from ten to calm down and she tells herself it helps.

Only when she can loosen her grip does she answer quietly, "I'm on my way, Dad. I'll be there in twenty, tops." She hears him hang up after a few calming words and a quiet "Take care of her" that she chooses to ignore, and the car goes dark again when the screen turns off. Castle sits silent and she can't bring herself to look at him.

She breaks the silence. "I'll drop yo―"

"No," he cuts in and reaches his hand over to still hers on the shift stick. She gasps and it's a sharp and strangled sound, thrown off by his protest nearly as much as his touch. "I'm coming with you, Kate."

But she's already shaking her head. "You really don't have to."

His fingers squeeze. "I know I don't. But I want to. No one should be alone at a time like this."

She keeps her eyes on the horn and realizes that she doesn't know what to do. She is torn between asking him to come with her and letting him go because it isn't his place to piece her back together regardless of her father's meddling. And as much as she wants to keep him, she has no right._ Let the man go home, Kate._

She is about to tell him so when his fingers thread through hers, his thumb softly brushing circles over the side of her hand and she's so startled by the intimacy of the gesture that her eyes snap towards him and the words evaporate off her tongue. His eyes are honest and concerned, full of warmth and understanding, and she finds herself nodding to some unspoken question. "Okay. Okay."

Castle squeezes her fingers once before letting go and she is left wanting by the shadow of his touch. Kate takes another deep breath before shifting her cruiser into first and back onto the road.

* * *

When they arrive, Kate is even more stressed than she was before having had the entire car ride to shuffle through a myriad of worst-case-scenarios. Castle stayed quiet next to her and as desperately as she wants to fix them, she almost forgets that he was in the car when they get to the ER. She spares him an apologetic glance but he waves it off as they walk briskly through the sliding glass doors. The stark white walls and harsh fluorescent lighting is much too familiar for his taste. The waiting area is large but there are only a handful of people waiting plus a small family who comes in right after them. He's grateful because that means that her grandfather must have been tended to quickly. She walks over to the counter in long, determined strides, her heels sharp against the bright linoleum tiles.

"I'm Kate Beckett," she starts before the middle-aged woman on the other side even looks up. "I'm here for Benjamin Reid."

The woman takes a moment to finish reading her file before looking up with a tired strained smile and Castle can feel his partner bristle at the receptionist's blasé attitude. Not good. He wants to help, to calm her― anything― but he doesn't know what he is allowed to do anymore.

"Relation to the patient?" the woman asks in a clam, slow tone.

Castle sees Kate brush her fingers over her hip and he knows that she is fighting the urge to bypass protocol with the flash of her badge. Instead, she grits her teeth and says, "He's my grandfather."

The woman grabs another clipboard and writes down a few words before passing it over the counter to Beckett. "Fill that out and we will call you as soon as there's news."

Kate grabs the clipboard and starts scribbling with pen tied to the counter, not bothering to sit down like most. So Castle stands by her as she fills out each question with the same swift precision as she has for her 5's. She finishes in two minutes flat, barely needs to think and she drops the board back onto the counter a little harder than necessary to get the woman on the other side, whose name tag reads Daisy, to look up again. She does, covering the receiver of the phone she's on and calmly repeats, "Take a seat Miss Beckett, and we'll have a doctor to brief you as soon as possible."

Kate stays put and Castle knows how much she dislikes being called 'Miss Beckett'. Accepting the risk, he thanks Daisy with a charming grin before stepping closer to his partner and guiding her by her elbow towards the waiting room chairs. It worries him with how easy it is for him to move her because it is in her nature to lead, to always go first, and he knows first-hand how she hates being manhandled.

_You don't know her at all._

The thought has him flinching away from her. He lets go of her arm and forces a foot of distance between them like she suddenly caught fire. His partner watches him with that lost expression that she has been wearing too often these days. Her eyes are still unfocused but he sees what he thinks is disappointment. _Stop. _He tells himself to quit thinking like he knows her. Because the whole state of 'them' is a result of false assumptions and hopeful misinterpretations. He is here as a duty as a friend and to fulfil a promise to her concerned father to take care of her when he so horribly failed to do so last time. Last time when he didn't try hard enough and she ended up in the hospital with broken bones and a bleeding heart. So even if she won't love him, he refuses to fail again.

He spots an empty pair of seats in the corner where she would have an unobstructed view of the room and no one at her back. They almost make it but before they can sit down, the little girl from the family who followed them into the ER bursts into tears, her voice breaking on the high notes of her sobs. Her brother, who cannot be more than a year older, holds her protectively away from them and glowers at Castle but is too afraid to speak his mind.

Kate turns around to scan the room before settling on something he doesn't see. Castle is still perplexed with the children's reactions― mildly insulted actually― but it fades out of his mind when he feels Kate take his hand. His eyes drop to where their fingers are brushing and freezes. To say he is shocked is an understatement because this is Kate Beckett and she is holding his hand and neither of them is or was about to die. Well maybe she isn't holding his hand per se, more like cradling a few of his fingers, tugging gently to get his attention. He looks to her and she has one of his favourite expressions, her 'I'm serious' face that is belied by the hint of amusement that shines in her eyes and in the tilt of her lips. With her other hand, she makes a vague motion to her face and it takes him a moment to realize that she means _his _face, and he remembers that his usual ruggedly handsome visage is currently completely zombified.

Castle shares a sheepish grin and turns back to the pair of children. He gives them his most friendly smile but it must not show very well through his mask and makeup because the little girl is wailing like she is in agony and now their mother is fixing him with a disapproving glare of her own. He is about to apologize but his partner is pulling him away towards some unknown destination. When he turns back to her direction, she is already pushing through a wide-set white door and he barely catches a glimpse of the sign outside the doorway before she ushers him ahead and closes the door behind them.

And all he can think about is how he made her almost smile.


	2. Grandfather

Here's another one! Kindly let me know what you think.

* * *

_Almost, almost is never enough  
__So close to being in love  
__If I would have known that you wanted me  
__The way I wanted you  
__Then maybe we wouldn't be two worlds apart  
__But right here in each other's arms_

- Ariana Grande, Almost is Never Enough

* * *

They are in a bathroom.

A family bathroom judging by the large empty space and the diaper changing station on the far wall. Kate is leaning against the door with her eyes cast downwards and he wonders what she sees. He gives her a moment, choosing to walk towards the mirror and check his face. Yeah, it's pretty terrifying. He hears Kate take a deep breath and then he catches her eyes in the mirror. They are dark and clouded, and he decides that he doesn't like it. He makes that growly face hoping to get a small smile out of her like he did in the car.

She doesn't disappoint.

But her smile is short-lived and it slides off her face to be replaced by something solemn. She pushes off the door and he waits for her to come to him almost like he is coaxing a frightened kitten out from a corner. Reaching behind him, she flips down the toilet seat cover and tells him, "Sit."

Castle fixes her with an incredulous look. When she doesn't back down, he looks at the toilet and then back at her. He repeats the gesture because really? He doesn't want to be a snob but he is wearing a thousand dollar suit. And that? That is a toilet. Just, no.

Beckett rolls her eyes at his pretentious objection. She turns around to grab a few paper towels and lays them on the lid. He groans his reluctance and makes a show of gingerly sitting on the edge of the lid, trying to minimize contact. She looms over him, mildly amused and her grin widens marginally when he pouts at her. He used to think that she liked his childish side; apparently he wasn't wrong.

Perhaps that isn't the only thing he is not wrong about. His hopeful heart flutters with the thought. The silly thing.

She turns on the tap to soak a paper towel, wringing it put with both hands before turning back to him. Her fingers gently peel the mask off the side of this face and it comes off easily thanks to the thin layer of cold cream she helped him put on earlier. She works slowly and it is as if she needs this, this methodical exercise. Any level of control. So he sits there on the edge of the toilet and lets her carefully scrub the costume makeup off his cheeks and never once complains that it is handsoap that she is using on his face.

He waits for her for what seems like hours as she gently strokes his face clean. After what could not be any longer than a few minutes, she stalls on a spot just under his jaw and she lets out a light cough, a little nervous, a lot insecure. Nothing like the Beckett he thought he knew.

"Um…," she coughs again, purposefully avoiding his eyes. "So, uh, h-how is Alexis's speech coming along?"

Castle blinks. Once, then twice. When he doesn't say anything, she flicks her gaze to him for a fraction of a second before looking back at a spot on his face. "I thought, uh, I was told that she made valedictorian at school. That means that she has to give a speech, right?" she continues, each word more unsure than the last. He is almost impressed by how her hands are so steady when compared to the near stutter of her voice.

"Uh yeah," he says when he finally finds his voice, "she's getting really nervous about it, trying to quote all great speakers in history."

Beckett hums her response and he watches as she struggles to say something more but it never makes it past her lips. He cannot remember the last time it was so awkward. That just being with her, being next to her and sharing her space wasn't enough. Then again, for the last few weeks when things got uncomfortable, he just left. And now that he is forced to stay he is here to witness what he has left behind. She barely hides it anymore either, the disappointment in her face as he walks away from her, the phantom words that she cannot seem to voice and yet they still colour her face.

"Wait, how did you know ―?"

"Lanie," she cuts him off with a sheepish smile. He doesn't ask if Lanie offered the information or if Kate actually asked. Either way, he cannot help the feeling of warmth that fills his veins at this woman's genuine concern and interest for his daughter. She turns away from him to get a fresh paper towel and soaks it in the sink before turning back to him. She pauses for a moment before looking up to stare at the wall behind him, purposefully avoiding his eyes and says, "I'll try to finish up quicker. Alexis is probably wondering where you are and I shouldn't have asked you to come. You don't need to be here."

He scrunches his eyebrows, confused at her words. He is the one who offered to be here in the first place. So he tells her again, "No one should be alone at a time like this, Kate."

She gives him a dry laugh, so forced that it hurts his heart to hear it. "I've been alone for a while now, Castle."

He flinches. He can almost hear it in her voice, the quiet question of _why did you leave me alone?_ The silent accusation smarts even more knowing that her solitude precedes their time together.

So he tries and tells her, "I'm here now," but even as he says it he knows it falls short of everything he wishes he could say.

Only then does she look at him. Her hazel eyes shine like a little girl lost and he sees in the way that she tightens her hold on the wet paper towel. How much she is holding back. But her voice cuts when she asks, "Why?"

Why? Why is she alone? Why is he here?

"Why are you suddenly here when you've been in and out of the precinct for the last few weeks like you've found a new place to play? And then you only come back to me when you remember you've forgotten something and want to pick it up before leaving me all over again."

A new place to play. It brings him back to their last real fight almost a year ago when she told him that her life was not his own personal jungle gym. That he wasn't welcome to play there. That she wasn't his. Was it so wrong for him to go looking somewhere else when he finally understands that he's not wanted? He drops his head and answers honestly, "Because you didn't want me there."

All he can hear is her breathing and he waits for her to leave. Because that is what she does, right? She runs when things get serious. She runs and he chases. Only recently, he ran out of fuel and realized that he will never catch up.

He nearly jumps when he feels her fingers on his chin as she tilts his head up and begins to gently rub away the powder from under his eyes. He stares at her face, completely still at her fingertips. Her expression is soft and dejected and a little confused, but there is still that steely determination in her big doe eyes when she breaths, "I always want you here, Rick."

Castle lets out a shaky breath. Her expression tender, her eyes shining with something he doesn't dare to name. This woman is a living, breathing contradiction and he cannot decide if she is saying what she means or if he is only listening to what he wants to hear. Because his half of their relationship is defined by misunderstandings and mixed messages, and his absolute naivety when it comes to this woman he cannot help yearning for. But now, sitting on the edge of a toilet seat lid with her nestled between the bracket of his thighs, her hands on his face and her thumb stroking his cheek in what can only be called a caress, it feels like they are once again on the precipice of something he has been ready for a while now.

Kate has always been the wild card, the variable in the equation of them.

Is _she _ready?

* * *

She lets her finger wander under the guise of cleaning off the last bit of paint when really, she was done a while ago. They are having a moment, she's sure of it, and she remembers the last time they were at this standstill she let him get away.

Not this time.

She brushes her fingers high along his cheekbones, watches his gaze flutter across her face and wonders how she ever thought she could ever move on from those warm cerulean eyes.

She waits, hoping for the right words to come to her. Anything to make him wrap his arms around her waist, to lace his fingers behind her back and to quash the space between them until there is nothing but the thin fabric of their shirts. But she has never been good with words and his hands stay stubbornly rested on his lap. She has tried being the concerned friend (after the bombing case), the hard cop (with Slaughter), and even the jealous girlfriend that she doesn't deserve to be (which she is not overly proud of) but the wedge he put between them remains steadfast.

She wets her lips, feeling some small satisfaction when his eyes track the movement of her tongue along the seam of her mouth, and prepares herself for the worst. She stutters, her mouth opening and closing without a sound and she flushes, partly in frustration but mostly because she must look like a fish out of water, gaping like an idiot. _Spit it out, Beckett._

"Castle," she starts and she hopes that the look on his face is something akin to the longing on hers because she is walking into this blind with her heart on her sleeve. "Rick, I―"

There is a muffle from outside the door that stops her. Listening harder, she hears a feminine voice call out again, "Family of Dr. Benjamin Reid?" and she drops her chin to her chest, defeated. She hears Castle's heavy sigh and their history of being interrupted in the middle of every important conversation has her chuckling to herself. When will they ever catch a break? Taking a deep breath, she schools her face of the desperate yearning, steels herself for what waits beyond the door, and pulls herself away from the warmth of his body.

When they reach the door, Kate hesitates, unwilling to let go of the progress they have made in this little family bathroom (and no, the symbolism isn't lost on her). She spins on her heels, finds him barely step away and reaches out to pick some invisible piece of lint off his lapel. Keeping him close, she tells him, "We'll finish this later."

She waits for him to nod, which he does eventually, before turning around and walking out the door.


	3. Pop

My apologies for the wait. My good friend assures me that midterms and assignments take precedence over writing and I would argue if my mom didn't agree with her.

Thank you to all those who took the time to read my story thus far. It's an honour.

* * *

_I'll close my eyes, then I won't see  
__The love you don't feel when you're holding me  
__Morning will come and I'll do what's right  
__Just give me till then to give up this fight_

- Bonnie Raitt, I Can't Make You Love Me

* * *

Kate Beckett hates hospitals. She hates the gloss of the white linoleum tiles and how she cannot help but wonder how often they are stained red. She hates that all the walls look the same, that even professionals could not find a way to paint an ounce of joy into this place. She hates that on any given day, there are more people coming in than out, and even more who need to be admitted but cannot get in at all.

She has never come here for the miracle of life. She certainly hasn't experienced it firsthand. As a homicide detective, she is a more frequent visitor of the morgue than the recovery wing. She is rarely present when good news is given, and even when it is bittersweet at best. Instead she offers a shoulder to cry on when she has to give the news to a mother, a daughter, a son, a husband that breaks their hearts. She hands them her card, tells them she is sorry―means it― and yet it never feels like it is enough. It isn't.

But she hates even more now that she is here for someone she loves and she cannot do a damn thing. Instead, she stands rigid before a gentle older man clad in a white coat (she is starting to hate that colour) and a stethoscope hanging alongside his tie as he recites the care plan for a mild concussion.

Her grandfather has a concussion.

The doctor, whose name is Dr. Gordon, is a broad tall man with wispy blond hair and a square jaw that makes her think he must have been a very handsome man in his youth. Now he looks at Kate with his grey-green eyes and calmly tells her how because of her grandfather's age, the accident posed a larger concern where younger folks in similar situations would be able walk it off after a bit of rest and some Tylenol. She feels the air rush out of her with relief when he tells her that aside from the concussion, there does not seem to be any other injuries, and the concussion should not pose any long-term side effects. That her grandfather will be fine but they will need to keep him for overnight observation. Just in case.

When she can breathe again, she asks in her best cop voice, "Where is he now?"

"He should be coming back up from his CAT scan any minute now and he'll be in room―"

Daisy comes over to the doctor and tugs him closer to whisper something in his ear, successfully cutting him off from his explanation. Kate is starting to really dislike this woman. She watches as Dr. Gordon sighs but his small smile seems to say he is more amused than exasperated. The nurse pulls away and shuffles back to her post.

"So apparently, someone has convinced our staff that it is imperative for Dr. Reid to be moved a private suite at Greenburg 14 South. We'll go through the rest of the paperwork and I'll let you go see him." He chuckles to himself a little, "Your grandfather must have friends in high places."

She nearly chokes on the words 'Greenburg 14 South' but forces herself to focus. Deal with it later. She strains to concentrate on what the doctor is saying as he goes over the plans for the remainder of the night and tomorrow morning, highlighting the conditions of her grandfather's discharge. She grills him about the medications that he will need to take, safety precautions, everything to do with concussions even though she is more than familiar with them. Personal experiences. She feels Dr. Gordon push the papers into her hands and when she looks down and she is thankful that everything that he had said is written on the paper, including her grandfather's room number.

He gives her a gentle smile and tells her to have a good night before leaving to tend to another patient.

It takes Kate a moment to turn around but when she does, she finds Castle still standing next to the counter with a deep frown of concern. She dips her chin, a subtle signal meaning 'get over here' and he does. He crowds into her space and drops his voice, "How is he?"

"He'll be fine," she plays it cool even though he was there to witness the tension wired into every muscle in her body only twenty minutes ago, "especially since he'll be living like a king for the next twelve to 24 hours." Her eyes narrow at him accusingly, trying to suppress the gratitude that floods through her veins so she can properly chastise him. He really shouldn't have.

He gives her a sheepish grin and says, "Dr. Corwin owes me a favour anyways," like it is no skin off his nose. She is finely aware that even if Castle knows the Chief Executive Officer, someone has to pay the bill for such a ludicrously luxurious private room― excuse her― private _suite._ And she cannot owe him.

She already owes him so much.

So instead of smacking him like she wants to (or kiss him like she really wants to), she grits her teeth and thanks him.

He shrugs it off like its nothing. But it's not. Not to her and they have been so off kilter lately that cannot fathom how she could possibly deserve his kindness. She will thank him properly later.

She needs to see her grandfather first.

Greenburg 14 South. She has only ever heard of the elite wing of the hospital for their most wealthy patients at over two grand per night. The hallways resemble a fancy five-star hotel with their high ceilings and tasteful art pieces that line the walls. Castle is walking next to her, chattering quietly about how he came to know about this place and why he can personally vouch for their excellent service and care. Apparently, Martha requested to stay in what she referred to as a 'Master Suite' for a night after some secret procedure that he is not privy to.

By the time they make it to her grandfather's suite, the vice around her heart has loosened its hold and her hands are no longer fisted at her sides. She thanks Castle with a grateful glance before pushing into the room.

Show time.

The room is larger than even she imagined and is furnished with more likeness to a luxury hotel than the room she was in last summer. Castle landed her grandfather a corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows lining two full walls that overlook the city skyline. There is a large leather couch against the far wall and a mahogany card table tucked against the corner. Beckett immediately gravitates to the leather chair closest to her grandfather and pulls closer to his bed to prepare for a long night at his side.

If it weren't for the machines against the wall and the wires that snake beneath his bed, he would look for all the world like he was simply lying asleep at home. She hovers over him, checking for anything the doctors might have missed as if she could know better but there is nothing. He looks normal. Letting out a sigh, she wraps her fingers around her grandfather's hand and sits down, her head bowed over so her hair brushes the clean white sheets. She lets the rhythm of the heart monitor relax her, the sound of each beep reminding her that her family is still with her.

* * *

He is dreaming. He must be. He knows because he sees the same dream almost every time he closes his eyes.

This reoccurring dream where Kate Beckett is Kate Castle and when she tells him, _"Let's go home"_, she means his loft. In this world she smiles at him until her eyes glow and her whole body lifts into him joyfully when they kiss. In this world, she lets him sleep in on Sunday mornings to treat him with the sight of her dancing around his kitchen making breakfast for his family. He would watch her as she sings along to an old pop song that he would have never thought she would like as she closes a kitchen drawer with a nudge of her swollen belly, turning to him with a coy little grin explaining, "_at least he's helping, Castle,"_ as she strokes her hand over their unborn son. In this world, she is his and he is hers and he is so very happy.

But then every time he wakes up, the smile slides off his face and he remembers that she doesn't love him. Every morning his heart breaks a little when he moves his hands across the sheets where it is cold and he is alone. So lately, he has tried to make every waking moment as unlike his dreams as possible so maybe, maybe they would stop. That his unconscious mind would catch up and realize that this dream he used to think was a fairy tale is now a nightmare that looms over every waking moment, flaunting what he cannot have. He hates it because each time he closes his eyes he is reminded of the colossal parallax between his dreams and reality.

Soft voices pull him out of his slumber. He blinks, rubbing his eyes like a child and realizes that he is certainly not at home. He is on a comfortable three cushion couch, his cheek adhered to the leather. He almost groans aloud when he catches his name in conversation from the other side of the room. He keeps still, not wanting to interrupt Beckett and her grandfather's whispering.

"… has nothing to do with Castle," she sighs. She sounds utterly exhausted.

He hears a rough scoff from the bed in response, clearly not convinced.

There is a moment of silence. Castle risks a peek and sees her hunched over her grandfather's bed, her hands cradling one of his as she whispers quietly. Her voice is hoarse like it gets in the early morning before he delivers her morning coffee. He shifts a little to try to catch a glimpse of what grandpa Beckett looks like without giving away that he is awake. When he moves, he sees a brown leather jacket slide lower off his shoulder. It is Beckett's jacket.

She put it over him?

Before he can dwell on it any more (she actually left her grandfather's side to tend to him?) he hears her voice again. "Pop, you didn't have to come," he hears her say. He thinks that it is adorable that she calls her grandfather 'Pop'. "I'm just working through some … personal stuff."

"Don't give me that, Kate Beckett," the older man scolds. Castle catches a slight accent in his voice, almost British, maybe mixed with something else. "I haven't heard a genuine laugh from you in almost a month."

She doesn't bother to argue the fact.

"I just wanted to see you smile again." Castle hears a low hum, coaxing Beckett to look up at him. "Come on Katie, talk to me."

She smirks a little and sighs her acquiescence. "Fine. But only after you get out of here."

Castle grins. It is so like her to make a conditional agreement.

Her grandfather exaggerates a groan but counters with, "In two hours when I wake again."

"Deal."

Castles strains to hear the rest of the conversation as she expertly steers it away from the topic of her life. But the weight of the last few days tug at his consciousness and he lets the dull pattering of the New York rain against the double-paned window pulls him back under.

* * *

The next time Castle wakes up he is no less confused than the first. He can usually sleep through the night on a couch ― curse of a writer ― but when he opens his eyes it is still dark outside. He groans into his pillow and grumbles about waking twice in one night and ―

Wait. He didn't have a pillow when he fell asleep.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." The voice comes from above him, all quiet and tender. He blinks away the darkness and makes out Kate's face peering down at him. He colours with embarrassment when he realizes that he just buried his face in Kate Beckett's lap but she doesn't seem to mind. She relaxes and he can feel her fingers back at his temple as if she was just stroking through his hair.

He finds that it is an incredibly intimate gesture. They usually never touch. And now he is lying in her lap overwhelmed by her closeness. The scent of rain and cherry blossoms and something else he usually only associates with Christmas envelopes him, sends him into a wild haze of want and heat and home. It is confusing and it doesn't make sense, he knows. It is all a jumble in his mind.

He looks at his watch: 5:30AM. He groans again and she gives a light little laugh like she didn't mean to let it out. He sits up straight, not wanting to make her (or him?) any more uncomfortable and runs his hand through his hair out of reflex. He finds that it is surprisingly neat already. He catches her eye and when she looks away sheepishly with her fingers toying with the hem of her sleeves in her lap, he knows right then she was indeed combing through his hair as he slept. Who would have thought?

"I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

She shakes her head. "You didn't. I saw you lying down with your head in the cushion and I didn't want you to wake up with a crick in your neck so I um, I thought I'd lend you my lap." His eyes widen at her open confession and she blushes prettily in the dark. "And Pop told me to stop hovering."

He gives her a small smile, remembering how Alexis would kick him out of her room all the time when she was sick. Yeah, he had a tendency to need to help even when it doesn't do any good.

Looking over at the sleeping Senior Beckett, he asks her how he is doing.

"He says he's fine. That in his day, going to the hospital for something as trivial as this would be embarrassing." She tries to smile but it falls short. "I just wish I didn't make him feel like he needed to come out here."

They sit there silently, watching the rain outside and the rivulets race down the surface of the glass. After a few minutes of silence, he turns to his partner. She is slumped over, her elbows on her knees and she is pinching the bridge of her nose. She rarely ever does that; she is more partial to pacing when she gets frustrated. But it is not every day that you get this type of news.

"I'm sorry, Beckett." He is.

She takes a moment to collect herself before looking back at her grandfather's sleeping form.

"He wasn't even supposed to be here." Castle stays quiet and cannot bring himself to tell her that he heard this much already. "He was supposed to stay in Long Island and I was going to visit him in two weeks. He should have waited."

The look on her face is familiar. The same look when she puts away a case unfinished, unsolved. The same face when she has to tell the victim's families that she could not give them justice. Ashamed of her failure.

"Kate," he tries, "none of this is your fault."

She huffs at him in disbelief. She wipes her hand over her face as if she could erase the day.

"If only I could have hid it better," her pain, her sadness, "then maybe he wouldn't be in this godforsaken place where every time I close my eyes, I'm right back in that bed where everything hurts and I can't do a damn thing."

He wants to ask. Ever so curious, he wants to know what 'it' is that she should have hid better and what it was like for her over the summer all alone. He wants to know what that 'personal stuff' she mentioned she was working on. Was it her therapy? Her recent cases? A new next-door neighbour that sings opera until 3:30AM?

He hasn't been around enough to know.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Would you?"

_Ouch_. Okay, he deserved that.

But then again, "Would you let me?"

She stays silent for a moment and he watches her, waits her out.

She lets out a heavy breath, a sigh carrying the weight of all her stress and worry of the day. "I had a bad case. The one before this one."

He feels a twinge in his chest and he says it before he can think, "You've had a case without me?"

She nods once, eyes still downcast.

"Oh."

"It's just―" but she stops herself, biting her bottom lip to halt the tumble of words.

But he wants those words. He deserves those words, especially when she won't give him the three he wants most.

So he asks for them, "Please."

It takes a moment and he almost thinks she hadn't heard him but eventually, "I miss my partner."

That is the first time she has ever said that.

"But instead, the shell of him breezes in and out of the precinct chasing after this blond stewardess who is fun and uncomplicated rather than chasing murderers with me."

Indignation flares in his chest. "I think I can multitask pretty well."

"That's not the point, Castle."

"Then why does it matter?"

She snaps her gaze to him, her hazel eyes flashing with something he cannot understand.

"Because you belong with me."

His heart skips. There it is. The guilty plea, the admission of her lie hidden in her blatant confession. He looks at her, really looks at her for the first time in a long while. Studies the glisten in her eyes, the defeat in her posture, the muted protest to his recent absence. Her walls are still up but the door is wide open and he can see now that she hates this as much as he does.

When he answers there is no sharpness in his tone, all the bitterness drained from his voice and petty boy spite all but vanished. He says it like it is just a sad, sad truth.

"I'm not yours, Kate."

_But I wish I were if only you'd be mine._


	4. Sir

I am so sorry for the delay. This chapter gave me a hard time and final exams were not conducive to creative writing. However, finals are over and I have more time to write so I promise the next chapter will be out in a more timelier manner.

Thank you so much to all those who have left a review or are following my story. It is truly humbling.

I hope everyone has a fantastic holiday season.

* * *

_Staring at the ceiling in the dark  
__Same old empty feeling in your heart  
__'Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast  
__Well you see her when you fall asleep  
__But never to touch and never to keep  
__'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep_

- Passenger, Let Her Go

* * *

"Yes Sir, thank you." Kate's voice is clipped and short at her captain's reluctance. And here she thought Gates was warming up to her. Apparently not so much.

The soft _blip_ from the other end of the phone tells her that her captain hung up without so much as a good bye. She sighs but at least she got what she wanted.

She tucks her phone into her pocket and silently slips back into her grandfather's suite. It is early morning, the sunrise slanting colours across the room painting the walls in a warm amber. Somehow it makes it look more joyful than the harsh fluorescent lighting of last night.

"Something wrong?" Castle asks quietly from the couch. He rubs the weariness from his eyes like a little boy and she cannot help but think he is adorable in the morning.

A grumble from the bed tells her that her grandfather has already woken too.

"I asked Gates for the day off," she starts as she walks over to the man in the bed. "She gave me the day but she wants me to drop off the case files that I forgot I had in the cruiser."

Ben frowns when he reads her face.

"You don't need to babysit me," he chides when he sees her reluctance to leave.

"But Pop…"

"Go, Katie. I'll still be here when you get back. And besides, you could use a fresh change of clothes." His eyes say more than his words as they shift between her and her author. He must have noticed the tension that grew overnight.

_I'm not yours, Kate._

Yeah, that hurt.

Her chest still heaves with the weight of his words. They sounded so hopeless, so final. It made her realize how much space she has put between them. A chasm so wide, the walls so thick that even he won't breach to save her. Too careful now guarding his own fragile heart while she struggles to put hers back together, like a Great Pagoda Kumiki puzzle with missing pieces.

The beginning of her protest dies on her lips when Castle gets up from his perch on the couch and yawns loudly, his arms stretching above his head pulling his shirttails out from under his belt.

"Don't worry Beckett, I'll keep him company," he says with a stiff smile. Like he is trying too hard.

But he still won't meet her eyes.

She is about to argue that Stegner lives nearby and wouldn't mind doing her a favour but Castle grabs the deck of cards off the table and sits in her chair pulled up next to her grandfather.

Okay then.

She checks her wristwatch. The earlier she leaves, the sooner she can come back. "Call me with any news," she tells them as she grabs her jacket off the couch but they wave her off as Castle begins to deal. "I'll be back in an hour."

* * *

"You don't deserve her."

Castle looks up from his hand of cards to stare at the older man. Benjamin Reid has a refined quality about him, a regality in the way he speaks, the way he moves, even in his hospital gown. He is looking back at him with his chocolate brown eyes, watchful. His face is lined with time but he has aged with grace, still a strong semblance to the handsome man he must have been in his youth. His chiselled jaw is cleanly shaven and his snow white hair is combed over neatly, a sharp contrast to his olive skin. He has high cheekbones, not unlike Kate's, and he can see more of her in her grandfather than in either of her parents. Perhaps it is the calculated look in his eyes, swimming with something that says '_I know something you don't know_', or his calm countenance that Castle has come to expect from her over the years.

When he doesn't respond, simply puts down another card onto the growing pile between them, Ben continues, "No one deserves her. But from the way she talks about you I thought you might come close."

"She talks about me?" The question blurts out without thought.

Ben just chuckles, a musical sound like Santa, and sets down another card in their game of Crazy Eights. "You seem to be her favourite topic."

Oh.

"Until a few weeks ago."

_Oh_.

Castle drops his gaze and finds that he has nothing to add. What could he possibly say? _Sorry Sir. I've been an ass to your granddaughter because she led me to believe in all fun we could have together if she would just let me love her._

Yeah. That would go well.

He is still angry even after all that was said over the last 24 hours. He still cannot believe that the woman defined by her integrity and missions to find the truth would hide it from him. But it has calmed from a boiling rage to a dull ache, the pettish haze lifting like the morning fog.

The confusion and misery in her voice earlier pulled at his heartstrings, shook off the frost and the hollow in his chest has begun to thaw.

All he wants now is to understand why.

Why would she _do_ this?

But more than anything he is tired. So tired of fighting her, fighting himself and how he cannot help but need her. It makes him feel weak in the way he failed to sever the lines he so cleverly laid down in his attempt to ensnare her into his life only to be caught in his own trap.

Ben doesn't offer anything else on the topic, content to just let it hang in the air between them. Let it fester and get under his skin like an itch. And it does. Castle's knees start to bounce, anxious and nervous and all around uncomfortable.

Where is she? It has been an hour already, hasn't it?

Castle counts each passing _tick_ of the clock for distraction. He hits forty-five before Ben spares him and fills the silence.

"One year, when Katie was seven or so," He starts, his voice lighter as he puts down another card, "her uncle was going through a bad divorce. He met his wife when they were in middle school, and Katie has always been enamoured by the both of them and their story that seemed as magical as her parents'. It was the last time that we all had dinner as a family and they were fighting across the table, screaming so loud that the chandelier shook and the glasses shivered. Katie was silent throughout the whole thing. Even when her father asked them both to walk away. Even when her mother asked her if she was okay. She didn't say a word.

"Later that night, she snuck out of bed and crawled up next to me on my old checkered couch. At first, she kept staring at the mantel above the fireplace where all of our photos sat in mismatched frames. Photos of weddings, laughter, and family. I must have waited at least a few minutes before she gathered her courage and asked me, 'Pop, did you ever figure out how to stay in love?'

"I remember I looked at her for a long moment but her eyes never left the fireplace. Her voice was soft but strong, confused but still brave and hopeful. I was about to answer, to explain what I thought she was really asking, about the situation between her uncle and his wife. But before I could she turned, fixed me with her most stubborn expression, her eyebrows all scrunched and determined and told me, 'I'll figure it out'."

Castle can imagine the look on her face as she promises to do what they could not, the same determined expression she has when she looks at the murder board, finding answers through sheer force of will.

He contemplates her question. He has yet to figure it out either. Two divorces and a string of women whose names and numbers are scattered in the background of his memory are a stark indication of his ignorance. But Kate Beckett has been in the forefront of his mind for the last few years and he thinks perhaps she has been teaching him how to.

Teaching him to share the patience he once only had for his daughter, the compassion he had reserved for his family. Teaching him the strength in forgiveness. Teaching him how to grow up.

Castle gives up the pretence of playing, lowering his hand and bleeding his cards.

"I love her."

It comes out quiet and raw. Liberating. The crux of it is he just wants her, anything she is willing to give, and maybe he can teach himself that is enough.

The older man hums, a deep approving rumble, proud as though Castle chose the correct answer.

"Then tell her, Rick." Ben's eyes soften and his words are thick with wisdom. "Tell her again."

* * *

Kate looks at her father's watch as she rides up the elevator, the numbers changing in her periphery. She taps her foot impatiently because she is nearly an hour later than she said she would be and she hates not being early or, at the very least, punctual. Maybe she should have skipped that shower.

She finally hears the _ding_ of arrival and steps off, quickly orienting herself towards to grandfather's room. She walks briskly and hears the laughter long before she even sees his door.

"… and they all taste great but green Jell-O is obviously the best," Castle explains, an easy joy spilling into his words.

She nudges the door wide with her shoulder, drawn in by his mirth.

"Why green?" she asks as she approaches the bed.

Castle turns to her and smiles.

Wow.

She almost drops everything in her arms because it is a _real_ smile. Not the snarky bitter smirk or the dust jacket grin. A real smile that stretches across his face showing teeth and crinkles the edges of his eyes.

He is smiling at her.

She swallows in an attempt to calm her racing heart and lowers the coffee tray and brown bag of breakfast pastries onto the overbed table, shaking only slightly. Of course her grandfather catches it and grins.

She blushes and shoots him a glare.

"Green?" she asks again when Castle doesn't answer.

When she looks up to hand him his coffee, he is still staring at her the way he used to at the precinct. Like he is peering into her soul and sees more than even she knows how to share. He looks at his coffee and pauses before taking it from her, brushing their fingers intentionally before smiling at her once more, pleased.

She hands Ben a steeped tea and pulls up another chair next to the bed.

"I was just telling Dr. Reid―"

"Ben," the older man corrects.

"―Ben why my favourite dessert is Jell-O."

"I thought you loved chocolate ice cream." Kate thinks back on the infamous sundaes at Chez Castle. Chocolate ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup, Christmas-coloured sprinkles and blanketed in layers of whipped cream topped with two maraschino cherries.

"Oh I do," He winks conspicuously, "but Jell-O has a fun texture and when I have green Jell-O, I can pretend I'm eating Flubber."

She scrunches her face. "Castle, that's horrible! And Jell-O is just wiggly candy."

"Exactly!"

She laughs with him, this ridiculous man who makes her happy with the upturn of his lips, a jubilant twinkle of his blue eyes. She is delighted with the easy conversation, the slight teasing, the familiar ground.

Maybe this streak of honesty is working, she thinks. Maybe soon she can tell him the rest, like how his words were the balm that healed the wound in her chest, and maybe they can start healing together.

_Be_ together.

Perhaps one day, if she works hard enough, he'll let her keep him.

Her laughter tapers off into a soft smile and she catches her grandfather's watchful gaze from the corner of her eye.

Okay, so she lied before.

It has everything to do with Castle.


End file.
